Burning Shade, Fading Light
by Beckthter
Summary: Those living in Forks Halfway House are drained, world-weary; they've taken more from this life than they can handle. Outcasts, fringe dwellers, standing on the edge of society, dipping their toes in. My name is Edward Masen. And I am one of them.
1. Edward

_Welcome to Burning Shade, Fading Light. _

_You may have noticed that all the chapters have disappeared. That is because the story was in great need of reconstruction and it probably wasn't fair that I unleashed it upon you in the state that it was in. So here is my amended prologue, I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think._

_Beck_

* * *

_**I was Broken**_

_**by Marcus Foster  
**__  
_

_I was tied, but now unbound_

_My head is off the ground_

_For a long time I was so weary_

_Tired of the sound, I've heard before,_

_The gnawing of the night time at the door,_

_Haunted by the things I've made_

_Stuck between the burning light and the dust shade._

_I said now I used to think the past was dead and gone,_

_But I was wrong, so wrong, whatever makes you blind_

_Must make you strong, make you strong,_

_In my time I've melted into many forms_

_From the day that I was born, I know that there's no place to hide_

_Stuck between the burning shade and the fading light,_

_I was broken, For a long time, but It's over now._

_Yes and you, and you,_

_well you walk these lonely streets that people send, People send._

_There are some wounds that just can't mend, I do pretend, pretend,_

_I am free from all the things that take my friends_

_But I will stand here till the end, I know that I can take the moon,_

_In between the burning shade and the fading light_

_I was broken, for a long time, but It's over now_

_I was broken, for a long time, but It's over now._

* * *

**Edward**

Jumping out of the truck's trailer, my feet hit the wet road with a crunch, the ground lurching beneath me. The next thing I knew I was lying on my back looking up at the icy-cold Forks night sky.

The truck door opened and footsteps rushed towards me.

"You ok, man?" The driver asked, attempting to help me up.

"I'm fine." I pushed him off and, with a dismissive wave, walked across the parking lot toward the bar's front entrance. My thoughts were disjointed, fluttery. My mind not quite connected to my body.

I frowned through the fog in my mind as I tried to think back to my last stop: a mouldy motel room that smelt of fresh urine. The hit I'd had must've been stronger than I thought, but I couldn't remember how much I'd taken. I just shot up all I had left and finished off the whiskey. I know it wasn't exactly self-preserving behaviour but I wasn't intending to go out on an OD.

Of all the ways a man could die, _that_ was the most undignified.

The puddles scattered across the gravel lot reflected the bar's broken neon sign like a hundred fluorescent mirrors.

I squinted at the sign, which screamed "THE THREE GRIZZLIES", before ignoring the front entrance and making my way through the parking lot; searching for my getaway vehicle.

Nothing too boring - I wanted to go out with a bang.

Then I found it. An old, beat up, red Chevy truck. The exact kind I watched my father drive away in. Walking over to it as casually as I could manage, I tried the driver's door and it opened with a rusty clunk.

Perfect. Some would call it divine intervention. Even the gods wanted me gone.

As I hoisted myself up into the cabin, my foot missed the ledge and my knee came crashing down on it instead. Luckily, I was too out of it to feel anything more than a brief flash of pain.

Pulling the door shut behind me, I pulled a flick knife out of my pocket and leant down, inserting the blade into a small gap under the steering wheel, and tried to jimmy the panel. It fell away without a fight.

I grabbed at the wires and yanked them out into the dim light, searching for the two that I needed - _Is that blue or green? - _the darkness and my blurred vision making it damn near impossible. Choosing two, and hoping to whatever god was listening that they were the right ones, I held each wire between thumb and blade, cut off about an inch of rubber on each one, and touched the wires tip to tip.

_Sparks._

The engine choked out a disgruntled roar.

"C'mon baby!" I cheered.

With fumbling hands I twisted the wires together, sat back, reached into my front pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. I tapped out a smoke, put it between my cracked lips and reached for my lighter, the momentary loss of focus causing the cigarette to drop from my lips.

Cursing, I pulled out another and lit it, sucking in the hot, thick vapour.

Smoking Marlboros in my big red truck. Just like daddy did.

I choked out a derisive laugh and yanked the gearstick into reverse.

Turning right out onto the highway, I drove a few hundred metres back towards Forks until I found a dirt road. I found a thick clump of pine trees and parked the truck between them to hide it from passing cars.

It was my prize.

I killed the engine and fumbled with my hands for the door handle. As I found it I pressed down, leaning my weight too far forward, and fell as the door swung open. My already injured knee and forearm took the force, the sharp gravel biting into my skin as I scraped along the ground.

Brushing the small stones away listlessly, I made my way back through the night towards the Three Grizzlies.

* * *

Inside, the smoke hung like a translucent cotton ceiling and the locals glared as only territorial drunks can.

As I walked to the bar I concentrated on looking as straight as possible, and failed miserably.

The bargirl raised her eyebrows sceptically when I asked for a drink, but placed it in front of me anyway.

"Double whiskey on the rocks. Five dollars."

_Dollars? Money... Right._

I searched my pockets and realised, under her scrutiny, that somewhere along my binge-filled path I had lost it. Not that I had any money left anyway, but they didn't exactly chase you for credit debts when you were dead. I searched again helplessly, on the off chance I had a dollar left on me.

No such luck.

I lifted my head in defeat. "Can't a guy get by with sexual favours anymore?" I asked dryly.

She sneered, grabbing the drink back off the bar. "You can pay me, or you can get out."

I saw movement beside me. "It's ok, I got it." A voice, both light and shade, spoke.

The bargirl took the money reluctantly as I turned to see who had paid. I was finding it hard to focus on anything. When I did, I saw a small woman, maybe younger than me, but her dark, haunted eyes said she was not as young as she looked.

"No 'thank you'?" She asked blatantly, pulling at a lock of her long brown hair.

I smiled, raising my glass. "To charity." I said.

She didn't smile back, but she was amused. "To charity." She replied, but before her glass could clink with my own, I pulled it back.

"To my saving angel." I said quietly, giving her my most breathtaking smile. The one that used to lure young women in, to get me anything I wanted.

She touched her glass to mine, looking at me with careful curiosity. "So why you here, stranger?" She asked.

I downed my drink in one, long gulp and looked around at the other patrons. "Don't look like a local, huh?" She shook her head. "How 'bout another?" I said, wiggling the glass in my hand.

She sized me up for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" After we had our second round placed in front of us, she turned to me with her glass. "Live every night like it's your last."

"Amen." I smiled, as our glasses clinked once again.

"So what's your name?" She asked.

"Edward." I replied.

She had told me her name in return, but I didn't hear it. My mind was chaotic, one moment in the conversation, the next being pulled back to some random past encounter. Like a wave crashing over and over again, I was resurfaced to find myself gazing into her eyes. They were so open, so unguarded, that I could almost hear the thoughts behind them. I knew I was straying from my original goal, but the longer we talked, the longer I wanted to stay.

"I can almost read your mind, you know." I said.

She smirked cynically. "Tell me then, almost-psychic-Edward."

I leant in closer and she followed, so much so that I could see the faint blue mark above her left cheek – a faded bruise - and the freckles across her nose. I stared into her eyes, flecked with orange and gold.

Her pupils' dilated.

A voice whispered.

_Take me home._

I leant back. "You wanna get out of here." I said quietly.

She studied me carefully. "Maybe I do..." She finished her drink and another two appeared before us. "But maybe that's just because it's late... or maybe you're boring me." She challenged.

I laughed. "You know who you remind me of?" She shook her head. "You know those timeless girls who would fit in just as perfectly now as a hundred years ago?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well that's what you remind me of."

"Tell me what I'm thinking again."

I stared into her eyes for a second time. A saw a shadow flicker beside her head and I looked up sharply.

Nothing.

"Edward?" She asked, turning to look behind her.

"Sorry," I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. "You're thinking...."

_...White foam threw itself haphazardly against the cliff face; a thrill of fear and excitement..._

"There's a cliff,"

_... and hunger, as she pushes herself towards the edge and gazes into the surging darkness below..._

"and the ocean..."

She sat up in her chair, the playful look now gone.

Something felt wrong; off. "I dunno..." I said, shaking my head.

"Do it again." She whispered, her gaze fixed on me intently.

I paused, reluctant. I had to narrow my eyes to keep focus. An unsettling coldness began to wrap itself around us.

The shadow flickered again, looming larger, taking shape.

This time when I looked up it didn't go away.

_Edward... _

In my head, her voice called my name.

_Edward...._

The voice changed now. A man's: Low. Filthy.

The cold crept up my skin.

"Edward? Are you ok?"

_You're not ok are you Edward?_

"Do you want some water?"

_You've never been ok..._

More shadows clawed into my peripheral vision. Mistakes and monsters from my not-so-distant past.

I was freezing.

_Fuck up... _The voice whispered.

"Edward?" Her hand on my shoulder brought me back to reality.

"I'm fine." I answered robotically, getting up off my bar stool. "I have to go."

She grabbed my arm as I turned. "Wait, I'm leaving too."

We stopped in the lot.

"I'm walking." I said, pointing back toward Forks.

"Ok." She seemed reluctant to go, her limitless brown eyes were pleading. I almost stayed.

"It was nice knowin' you." I said, stepping away backwards, gave her half a wave, and turned away. Any other night I would have gone with her, filled whatever hole she thought I could fill, but tonight I had more pressing plans.

When I was back on the road, I couldn't help glancing back for one last look. She was standing alone in the lot, dark hair blowing about her face, just staring at an empty parking spot.

* * *

Back at the Chevy, I started the truck again and shut the door. The sense of purpose now brought clarity back to my chaotic mind. I stepped on the gas and pulled out onto the highway, feeling relief sweep over me as the truck picked up speed. It was finally over.

The Three Grizzlies flew by in a flash and after a few moments I slowly let go of the wheel. Exhilaration gripped me as I relinquished control, released my hold on life.

Now it was no longer up to me.

The truck veered left as the road veered right, and I was thrown against the window, the lights scanning the spinning trees like an old-fashioned silent movie viewer.

Then, the truck chose its path, plunged itself through the tree line, straight and true. I stepped on the accelerator.

Finally a tree, dead ahead. Thick, tall, and large enough to make an impact.

But something was in the way, something small and wide eyed.

It lifted its arms to protect itself.

I took my foot off the accelerator.

It was too late.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

A pothole jolted me back to reality. Outside the car window, we passed a seemingly endless forest which finally opened out onto a green lawn, sloping up, until my eyes met the large, old-fashioned house perched regally on the hill above it.

The ten mile trip to this house was the furthest I'd travelled in three years. I had to sedate myself one mile in so I didn't have a full blown panic attack in the back seat of the car.

As we pulled up, a man and two women stood out the front waiting. I turned to see Roger, my accompanying attendee, watching carefully beside me.

They didn't trust me to have a moment to myself and, until I walked through those doors and signed myself in, technically I was still under the responsibility of Box Hill Psychiatric Hospital.

Privacy was something I had lost long ago, along with my mind.

I opened the car door and they all froze momentarily. Like I was going to run. I rolled my eyes. All I wanted to do was to find my room and barricade myself within it.

I stepped out of the car, clutching my bag to my chest, and approached them carefully.

The man introduced himself as Dwayne, the manager, his large hand engulfing my own as he shook it. He must have been at least 6'5 with a giant smile that looked too big, even for his giant face. I wondered briefly if he was related to Tony Robbins as he turned and introduced me to the two female staff members beside him, Michelle and Karen.

I was ushered inside to the reception area by Dwayne, his tennis racket hand resting lightly on my back as he chatted breezily, trying to put me at ease. Michelle walked in front, Karen and Roger behind. I was flanked on all sides.

The panelled dark wood interior was ominous, the walls closing in. I kept my eyes fixed on Dwayne to keep the claustrophobia at bay.

They sat me down at a desk and Dwayne took the seat opposite, pulling out a thick file. My file from the hospital. Three years worth of records. Three years of evidence stacked against me.

That's how long it had been since the accident.

Three years.

I signed several thick bundles of paper as Dwayne laid out the ground rules: no drinking, no drugs and no fraternizing with the other 'guests'.

Leaving behind Roger with an impassive goodbye, I was led out of the main building, still flanked by an entourage, along a covered walkway to a larger building behind it.

"Used to be a school, you know, fifty years ago." Dwayne gestured around as he led the way. He pointed to the large building ahead of us. "That's block 2 and the building we just came out of is block 1. It's where the offices, dining hall, counselling rooms and public accommodation is, but I'll show you round later."

Despite my having no desire for conversation, I couldn't help myself. "Public accommodation?"

He paused outside block 2 and looked at me with a relishing grin. The history of the place was obviously something he enjoyed imparting. He took a deep breath. "After the school shut down, and a little refurbishment, this place became the old Forks Hostel. Now, through no intention or control of its owners, it began to fashion itself into a halfway house; its cheap accommodation and proximity to the County Jail and Box Hill drawing more and more undesirable guests. No offence intended." He paused tilting his head at me, then continued. "Then the churches and support groups became involved, our community hall being the ideal location for their meetings." He pointed to a small white rectangular building to the east. "Eventually the owners gave in and hired a couple of full-time counsellors and we grew from there. That's how Directions House was born."

_Directions_, what a joke. There were only two directions for those staying in this place. Out there or back again. I was here to get better, to become a 'functioning adult member of society'. Something I'd never been before. I had the desire to be normal, to fit in, but I was scared shitless to be on my own out there, that I'd fail and end up on the streets again.

"So to answer your original question, other types still stay here, it being the cheapest place in town. They're usually backpackers or those looking for a temporary place to rent. But they never stay long." He shrugged.

My room was on building two's east wing. The east wing was a branch of ten rooms, five each side, the narrow concrete patio shaded with green dripping vines and dotted with two wicker chairs outside each door.

We stopped outside room 32. It was on the end, facing south. Fifty metres to the east stood the community hall. Directly south, about the same distance, the hill sloped down again into a small ravine. I guessed that there was a stream flowing down there but I couldn't see past the thick vegetation covering it.

"It can get a bit noisy, being close to the hall and all, but it's a hell of a lot more private than staying upstairs." He pointed to the higher levels of block 2. "You should count yourself lucky." He looked at me pointedly, as if I was going to argue.

He unlocked the door and handed me the keys. The others waited outside.

I looked at them with disapproval and finally spoke up, lifting my chin. "I thought I was here of my own accord."

"You are." He answered innocently.

"Then why am I being guarded?" I looked Dwayne in the eye and pointed to the two women standing outside, quite well built for ladies, now that I noticed.

He didn't miss a beat. "We just like to make sure our new guests are settled in." He smiled. "Now, when you're done here I'd like you to come back to reception so I can show you round a bit more and fill you in on how things work round here."

As soon as he left I dumped my bags in the middle of the floor and moved across to look out the window. A large oak tree, its leaves bright red, interrupted my view. A small green bud emerging meekly from a grey branch told me it was almost spring. The late autumn wind blew strongly outside, leaves whirling and leaping from the ground across the grass, past them was the hall, and beyond that was the pine forest; mysterious and unending.

I turned from the view to study my new home.

One double bed, lumpy mattress, stained woollen blanket, cupboard, dresser and mirror.

I had my own bathroom, peeling linoleum and mould included, which was a nice change.

It wasn't much.

But it was mine.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_A long, dark road. The girl is running - her footsteps echo with each frantic slap - away from something. Away from me. I yell at her to stop, to not be afraid. She slows. I catch up, grab her shoulder, turn her round to face me. _ _But there's no face. I back away, looking harder, her features flickering and blurring. But it's no use. I reach out to touch her face, to ground it, make it real somehow. My fingers stretch, almost meeting her skin..._

I woke up sweating and gasping.

It was _her_ again.

Always the same girl, the same dream, only different settings.

The thing that kills me is that I can never see her face.

If only I could see her, maybe the nightmares would stop. Maybe that was the key.

I sat up, peeling the sheet from my cold wet torso, and padded over the floorboards to the bathroom. Bloodshot eyes, shadowed jaw. I looked like hell. The sleeping pills made me sleep, but when the nightmares came they held me down, suffocating me, so that I couldn't break the surface.

_Time to face the real world_, as Carlisle would say. Though the whole reason I stayed here was because it was not quite the real world.

I took my pills, dressed, and walked around the east wing, heading towards the dining hall. Dwayne, the manager, stood at the reception, that stupid wide grin on his face. A man and woman faced him, checking in.

"The agent said it was seventy dollars a night." The guy said through clenched teeth, trying to use his size to intimidate Dwayne.

The guy had on a checked shirt, trucker's cap and bull's head belt buckle. He was about 6'3, 3 feet wide and menacing.

"Sorry Mr Fields, but your agent has given you ancient information. It's ninety dollars a night for non-residents." Dwayne answered with an apologetic grin, oblivious or immune to this redneck's bullying tactics; he'd seen it all before.

I stopped in the doorway, watching warily. He looked like the kind of guy who wouldn't think twice about throwing punches.

"You tellin' me that piece of shit room up there is ninety bucks a night?" He pointed back toward block 2 forcefully, almost knocking out the small woman beside him.

So they're putting him in with the crazies, I thought with satisfaction as the woman stepped back, dodging his jabbing finger. For a moment her eyes caught mine and she darted quickly back to the man's side, who I assumed was her husband.

Dwayne nodded, shrugging. "Still the cheapest place in town."

"Fine, just give me the keys." The big redneck demanded.

The woman barely came up to his shoulder, and as he turned and picked up their luggage, she followed obediently. Her large, brown eyes flitted uneasily from side to side as she kept her head and shoulders down, hiding her face behind her long auburn-brown hair.

Something about the couple's vibe just didn't sit right with me. It wasn't that he was ignoring her; it was like he didn't see her, didn't want to. Like she was nothing.

As Dwayne walked past me, leading them out to block 2, he gave me a nod. "Edward."

The young woman looked up and caught me staring. I smiled slightly, friendly, so at least I didn't look like a complete weirdo. Her eyes grew wider, fixed on me, and she walked into the doorframe with an audible "Oof."

The redneck didn't turn around.

She flushed red, scrambling after him, turning back to me for one more frightened glance. I chuckled, continuing on my way. Through the reception hall: its familiar dark wood – once ominous – was a comfort to me now; past the stairs, my hidden alcove underneath them, with its cushy armchair and dim lamp: my secret reading corner; and past the musty lounge with its faded threadbare couches, flowered curtains and doily covered coffee table.

The dining hall was bright and bustling, often doubling as a soup kitchen on Sundays, but not this morning. This morning guests lined up before the powdered eggs dried out, and I joined them.

"How you doin' this morning Edward?" The old cook, Walter, slopped a spoonful of 'eggs' onto my plate. His face was lopsided, mouth turned up, one eye squinting. Frozen in an eternal wink.

"I'd be better if this crap you served wasn't just mulched newspaper."

He snorted. "Like I always say, if you won't eat it, there's plenty more who will."

I shrugged, making my way over to an unoccupied laminate table. I picked at my bland breakfast and looked around the room. The men and women here –mainly men- were drained, grey and world-weary. They shuffled about, picking at the holes in their clothes, grunting at each other in a show of humanity, mostly keeping to themselves. We'd seen too much and taken more from this life than we could handle. Most of us were outcasts; fringe dwellers; standing on the edge of society, dipping our toes in.

The majority of my time was spent in this dining hall, or spilling my soul to the in-house quack, Dr Carlisle Cullen. I was required to work nine hours of chores to pay for food, lodgings and all other services. Seemed like a sweet deal, but you were expected to find a job on the outside after a few months. They didn't worry about not having enough help around the place, they had a plethora of slaves at their disposal.

Sometimes I escaped by reading in my 'secret' nook. That place was a concession he had made: Carlisle didn't want me holed up in my room, doing nothing but reading; and I didn't want to talk to anyone. Reading was the only distraction I had from this half-life I was living.

Then there was my community service, as I called it. The various over-60s dance groups that were overjoyed when they had a _real live_ boy playing their music for them. I only had one requirement: that the piano was regularly tuned. That thing had been unused for longer than me.

I was almost as entertained as they were. Almost. The amount of times they pulled out photos of their daughters/granddaughters/sons to tempt me with was a little disconcerting. I mean I was a resident in a _halfway house_ for God's sake. I'm sure the poor whippersnappers had standards.

Sometimes I would attempt to venture outside, filling out the daily mission he thought I was ready for. Spending the good part of three years locked inside had left me with the nice parting gift of agoraphobia - a fear of wide-open spaces - or any other space I wasn't familiar with if I thought about it.

If it sounded like the good doctor basically ran my life, well I suppose at the moment he did. But I trusted him. I had to. That was what I repeated to myself every time I stood in the entryway, gripping the doorframe with white knuckles, trying to talk myself into stepping out into the sunlight. _You trust him Edward_.

Since the day I stepped in that door my life had been stuck on a recurring cycle. Eat – chore – Sleep. Eat – Read – Sleep. Eat – Carlisle – Sleep. Eat – Piano – Sleep. _Repeat as necessary._ For three whole frickin months.

And the nightmares. The girl with no face haunted me every night.

They were big on routine at Directions House. My existence was a revolving door of never-ending, screamingly monotonous routine. I wanted to claw at the walls, do something dramatic just to relieve the boredom. At least at Box Hill the nut jobs were entertaining. But Carlisle said routine was a fundamental step in the road to recovery, and I was making progress... or so he said.

'_You can't run before you learn to crawl, Edward.' _ He constantly reiterated to me.

Finishing breakfast, I cleared my table and took my tray to the kitchen. I lingered, procrastinating, putting off my daily mission: the lawn.

Green, sprawling, and completely open to the elements.

Clenching my fists, I walked to the back door. I pulled the curtain back to peek out a little, Making sure there was no one out there. A glimpse of anyone and it was _mission: failed_. I didn't know why; I gave up trying to find the logic in my fears a long time ago. No one was out there today.

I twisted the door handle, flinching as the latch clicked.

_Just like a band-aid_. Carlisle's voice echoed in my head.

I held my breath, and stepped into the sunlight.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Perhaps sunlight was the wrong word. This was Forks, after all, where the sun bared its fierce face only once or twice a year.

I don't like the sun; it makes me dizzy, makes me sick.

Seems I chose the right place then.

The lawn (or 'Beer Garden' as it was known before the crazies came) stretched out in a sloping, green blanket, about half the size of a football field, until it met a solid wall of towering pine trees. Far to my left was the parking lot. In front of me several picnic tables were scattered about the grass; an open wooden gazebo with a disused barbeque stood to the right. Just imagine lots of peeling paint and warping wood.

I looked into the white sky, willing my hands to stop shaking, my breathing to slow. I closed my eyes, centred myself, listened to my breath moving slowly in and out of my mouth. All strategies Carlisle had taught me. I moved my awareness outwards. A soft, chill wind caressed my face. The grass had been freshly cut. Birds trilled joyously in the woods. I envied their happy song. Traffic roared like a distant ocean from the freeway. A shoe scraped on concrete -

I froze.

Opening my eyes slowly, I turned my head toward the sound.

The new girl sat at a picnic table close to me. Large brown eyes wide, startled. Hands splayed on the edges. She was tensed. A frightened deer, ready to make a break for it.

I was sure I looked crazy, standing there with my eyes closed for so long like that.

I opened my mouth to say something, decided against it, abruptly shut it again, did a 180 and walked straight back into the dining hall.

People skills are not a strong point.

I wanted to hide, so I headed straight for the room under the stairs, my little reading corner. I could bury myself there for the rest of the day if I was lucky. From there I could watch people come and go as I read – if I wasn't too absorbed. And, if I was being honest with myself, which is not very common, from there I could watch for the girl.

I wanted to see her again. Against my usual aversion to other human beings, something about her face, her demeanour, had piqued my interest. I rationalised that it was because there weren't many other young women here my age and this one seemed so vulnerable, too frail, underneath that translucent skin and dark, haunted eyes. I suppose she fascinated me, like a closed book I needed to know the contents of.

I settled down into the musty, velvet padding of the ancient armchair and began to read. The book was _The Shipping News_ by E. Annie Proulx. I identified with so many things in the book, but I didn't like it. Something about it unsettled me. The writing was odd, disjointed, disturbingly reflecting my own thought patterns sometimes. Where situations, moments, were just flashes of vivid imagery, rather than a flow of words. The main character was a snivelling, pathetic, flaccid man, and he frustrated the hell out of me. When I read I wanted an escape – but this man made every event in his life so dull and depressing... it was too close to my own reality. Where was the escape in that? We were polar opposites on one point though. He had people to love - who loved _him_; he was not alone.

I lost the hours, my medication making me lose my appetite, so I didn't stop for lunch. The cold light that streamed through the small white window slowly faded to blue and soon the dim lamp was my only illumination. When a regular stream of people began moving into the dining hall again I thought I should probably get up for dinner. Carlisle didn't like it when I skipped meals. Leaving the book I hated – but couldn't leave alone - I joined the back of the line to eat the same old, pre-packaged, processed junk I had been eating every day I'd been here.

I chose an empty table under a laminated picture of blue-eyed, blonde-haired, corn-fed Jesus and looked down at my meal. God, it took my appetite away just looking at it. A little compartmentalised tray containing limp grey meat soaking in watery gravy, shrivelled carrots and potato bake. Surely they couldn't mess up baked potato. I was wrong. It was horrible.

Looking up from my gag-inducing food, I noticed the big, pissed, red-neck sitting against the opposite wall. His head was lowered, wolfing down the meal, not stopping for breath. The girl with the frightened brown eyes sat meekly opposite. I was sure they were married, but they didn't speak a word.

As soon as he'd finished, he stood from the table and left the dining hall. She followed obediently behind him. Something still didn't sit right. I got the same uneasy feeling as when I saw them the first time. Normal relationships didn't look like that. Not that I'd had much experience, but I had seen similar behavioural signs from pimps and their girlfriends/hookers. Abusive, poisonous relationships. Is that what this was? She definitely had that jumpy, anxious air I'd seen in severely abused women.

Their relationship wasn't any of my business, but... men like that were scum.

Should I talk to her? Make sure she at least wasn't being beaten?

But what business was it of mine, even if he was?

No, if he was, even _I_ – who avoided involvement with anyone for years – couldn't sit back and let something like that happen.

I needed to see Carlisle.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The first time I saw Carlisle, I was waiting in the small conference room, looking at the various posters on the wall. One in particular caught my eye. A poem entitled _Anonymous_ to _My Precious Child_, about how I was not alone in my pain; about how I was loved more than I could ever fathom; how I would never do anything to change that fact.

I scoffed.

Carlisle, in all his smooth, well-dressed glory, had been standing in the doorway watching. "Not into poetry?" He asked.

"Not when it's thinly veiled Christian propaganda."

He moved up beside me to look at the poster with me. "How so?"

"You don't have to be a genius to figure out that _anonymous_ is supposed to be God."

"Do you believe in Him?"

"No."

"I find it interesting that you read into it that way then."

"Don't get too excited there doc." I shrugged and tapped the bottom right hand corner of the poster.

He leant in reading the publisher's name in tiny print. _Bible Society Ltd_.

"Ah." He straightened, giving me a wry smile. "Carlisle." He said, holding out his hand.

Carlisle's silver-blonde hair showed no grey and his smooth face no wrinkles, but he had the air of someone who was much older than they looked. I never asked his age though.

I shook it. "Edward."

"So Edward," he began, sitting down and indicating to the threadbare armchair across from him. "I take it you're not a fan of Christianity."

"My encounters have not been pleasant, no."

"Since you're here to talk, do you mind telling me about your most recent encounter?"

"Sure." It couldn't hurt. "I was in detox--"

"This is immediately after the accident?" Carlisle interrupted, scribbling a few notes on his leather bound notepad. "Your first time in detox?"

So he had read my file.

"Yeah. I'd been there for a week. I wasn't in my right mind anyway, coupled with withdrawals and the complete freak-out my body was having, well I wasn't exactly making friends. A guy and girl round my age started coming in one day, to sit by my bed, to talk. Although I ignored them, to tell you the truth it was sort of nice not to be alone. A couple days of company-keeping later one of them gave me a letter. It said:

**You are going to move through this.**

More importantly, I love you. YOU ARE GOING TO MOVE THROUGH THIS.

Don't be defeated. Submit yourself to the process. You are growing. You are changing. You are doing LIFE.

I am not trying to make you feel better. This hurts, and there are no two ways around it. But I am trying to encourage you to not retreat. I can't remove the pain, but I am going to hold your hand while it hurts.

Continue to reach out. You need people right now.

I'm here for anything you need.

You are LOVED in ways you cannot imagine. In ways that don't depend on you. In ways that don't depend on your performance. In ways that cannot be lost. Remember Remember Remember.

Love you my friend.

"'Well ain't that sweet,' I thought, 'they want to be friends.'

"After a few days they showed the real reason they were there. Jesus. I was vulnerable and very weak and they knew I couldn't speak up. By the time they were asking me to accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour I got my voice back. Threw my used bedpan at them and told them to go fuck themselves... They didn't really want to be friends after that." I chuckled at the memory then continued before Carlisle could start. "Now let me guess, Carlisle, you're going to give me the spiel. Goes something like: God and tree, Adam and Eve, and Father, pray, forgive... I've heard it a thousand times. How Jesus will save me. Christians are a bunch of hypocritical assholes. No offence, but I'm sick of it. I don't want the package, and I don't want the free set of steak knives."

He studied me for a moment. "You know, a wise man once told me never to judge God by His people."

I didn't answer, and he didn't bring it up again.

Now he sat in the same armchair three months later; and while I still didn't want anything to do with God, I had come to respect and trust Carlisle. An older man to look up to was something I'd never had growing up.

He contemplated my story carefully. "So you think he is beating this girl? But you haven't seen it."

"I don't need to Carlisle, I know his type and I know that look. He's just the same as them."

Carlisle nodded slowly. "I'm not questioning your intuition Edward, and I understand she could be in danger, but before anything can be done about it there needs to be proof."

"So we wait until he beats the crap out of her?"

"No... I think it's a good idea to befriend her, show her there's someone she can trust. If you don't at least do that then any interference isn't going to be welcomed." He paused and a look crossed over his face, something akin to pride or success. "You do realise Edward that you're having a breakthrough moment here?"

"How so?"

"You've been withdrawn into yourself for so long now, this is the first time I've seen you take an interest in someone else's life. It's a big deal Edward."

"You're happy cos I've stopped being a self-involved asshole?"

"Well I wouldn't go that far..." He answered with an amused glint in his eye. "But it is a step forward." He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Just don't get too involved..."

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well you obviously feel protective of her, and those sorts of feelings can move quickly into infatuation. By your description it sounds like she's a married woman and even so, you're probably not in the best place right now for a relationship."

"Woah, slow down there doc, I'm just concerned she's getting beat up, I'm not thinking about eloping."

Carlisle gave me a measured look then smiled. "Good. Now, let's talk about your new daily mission. How has it been?"


End file.
